Weekly ritual

We have a weekly ritual on Saturdays – me and the kid. Around 3pm, just about when she is getting supremely irritating and when I’m at the end of my patience, we set out for our weekend adventure. This involves a very steady routine. Dress up, fight about peeing before leaving house – threaten  to cancel trip if pee is not attempted, shout amidst tears, make up, leave home, walk to the nearest bus-stop, take the first bus that goes into Kingston, get down at Brooks Road, take the short walk to Kingston Children’s library aiming to reach there by around 3.30pm.

I discovered the library as a means to keep my sanity once I was alone with the kid here. She enjoys being read to and they do have a superb collection. Sometimes it’s my eagerness to read the next Julia Donaldson which far outweighs her need to go to make the trip. None the less, she does enjoy the trip. She browses the books and picks ones she thinks she may like and brings them to them to me to be read aloud. We spend around an hour or so at the library and the end of which we decide which books to take home. Considering that a lot of kids books are hardcovers and hence heavy, we limit our selection to around 5-7 books per week depending on the strength of the plastic cover I’m carrying for the books, her liking for certain books and my violent dislike for others. We normally manage a decent compromise. Sometimes her choice of books does surprise me. It is no secret that the girl loves monsters and dinosaurs. So obviously books which seem to have either of these on the cover do make it home. But I did draw the line at bringing home books about dung licking monsters and creatures who liked spider sandwiches…. Yuck!

Then there are times when she picks up books from the multi-language section and follows me around begging me to read Bengali books or Korean books. I’m good and I’m her super hero.. but even I can’t read anything other than English and Hindi. So after coming to blows trying to explain that I genuinely can't read Korean and I’m not trying to be difficult or lazy (her allegations), we decide on languages that I can read. Sometimes when we bring home books and read them, I’m surprised that most books in the lot seem to have a theme. One week, we had books about cleanliness( 3/5 books), one week it was about treating “different” people well (4/7 books), this week it is manners (2/5 books). You may assume, like I wrongly did, that kids’ books anyway cover only a limited number or range of topics and hence such co-incidences are very likely. But when you have been exposed to the world of kids stories in UK (and believe me the range is much wider than what we as adults get to read) and she picks up these books at random without knowing how to read, it does strike me as astonishing.

Anyway, library closes at 5, so we make our way out by around 4.45 and cross the road and land on Kingston high street. Next stop McD’s. Next part of the ritual – 2 medium fries and a fruit shoot – 3.17 quid for a fine inhouse dining experience. A luxury once a week and more importantly, at least 30 minutes more of conflict free time between us. Once we are done, after fighting over the quantity of ketchup, we take the first bus available into Surbiton, get down at Maple Road and walk back home to reach around six-ish.

All in all a good three hours spend outside home, fresh air, no fights, good books, fatty fries and a fairly tired kid who is asleep by 7. All in all not a bad ritual.

A musical fix

I stumbled upon The sound of Music today. It was 15 minutes into the movie. The scene was when Maria was told by the Reverend Mother about her commission to the Von Trapp family and she was on her way. I was in my quest for an American crime drama, any American crime drama.. though I seem to have seen re-runs of re-runs so many times that I can narrate dialogues back in my sleep.  Anyway, my initial pull – the reason why I stopped channel surfing was to see how Julie Andrews looked when she was young. I had seen the movie a long time back and knew the story, remembered a couple of the songs – 16 going on 17 and favourite things, but didn’t remember the details. Then the song was over and she was at the Vonn Trapp residence and then I was hooked. I just couldn’t change the channel. I couldn’t get myself to stop watching. The beauty of the story telling, the innocence of the era, the charm of the hero – things which are so lost in todays movies. There is a scene where George professes his love to Maria and they sing (obviously) at the end of which their silhouettes frame the doorway against the moonlight. It is one of the most beautiful frames in a movie which I remember seeing. The underlying and understated sense of patriotism which is there but not there. The romance which is so subtle that it is painful but never overwhelming. Even the other lady who could easily have been a vamp, but is only a human woman. I am not an expert in old Hollywood movies. I think sound of music and maybe Benhur are the only old movies (pre-80’s I mean) which I recollect seeing. I have always thought of that era to be unrealistic, something that my generation cannot relate to, movies with actors singing at the drop of a hat and hamming along gloriously. I am not saying that I am wrong. I don’t think I can ever see a Western starring Mr. Eastwood. But seeing something like Sound of Music ticks all the boxes – hope, love, music, joy, fun, strength, life….People need fixes like these  once in a while to get them re-alined.

Of Prose and Poems

This past year I have been exposed to a lot of writers about whom I had never heard of before… some good, some very good and some passable.

First off, introduction to a whole range of British best-selling children’s writers was the biggest find of all for me.  Julia Donaldson, Tony Mitton, John Fardell and the American Dr. Suess… the simplicity of the prose and poems, the audacity of the imagination, the brilliance of the ideas, the sense of humour which appeals to a 30 year old as much as a to a three year old. Aliens love underpants, Stinkysauraus, Manfred the baddie, the Gruffalo and lots more are an exquisite delight to read. I look forward to my weekly visit to the childrens section of Kingston Library as much as my kid. The excitement of finding these gems, bringing them home and then reading them every night till the next weekend is something that find childishly innocent.

The other big discovery for me was Alexander McCall Smith. The No.1 ladies detective agency series has been one of the most enjoyable reads I’ve had in a long time. Botswana, a hitherto heard of but not retained in memory for any cause, country was suddenly the most desirable country in the world. I have always loved the ability of an individual to write from a perspective which is completely opposite of their self. Not that I claim to intimately know Mr. McCall Smith, but I would daresay he does look and read a lot different than Precious Ramostwe. Reading any one of this gentleman’s books has a therapeutic effect on me.

Then there are the horrible history series. I am not one for actually recollecting anything that I read in those books with any precision – in fact I am bound to get British history all muddled up adequately for them to throw me out of the country with immediate effect, but are they a riot to read. I have never read such callously funny renderings of gruesome killings in my life. One doesn’t know whether to laugh or be horrified after reading the series.

The Indian markets are flooded with American authors and thankfully a lot of indian ones. I do miss the Indian writers. I wonder if there is a new Vish Puri novel or if Mr. Robin Einstien Varghese has been able to mess something up again or if Mr.Ravi Subramaniam has exposed another underbelly of the Indian banking industry or Mr.Adiga has another delightfully realistic expression of Indian life. I agree I am not into heavy philosophical books, but historical or mythological interpretations like The Pregnant King, the Palace of Illusions are excellent reads.

 

So I have always been quite ignorant of British writers. Maybe other than the old timers (Dickens, Jane Austen et al.), I actually have not read any modern authors. I have obviously been an ardent worshipper of Frederick Forsyth and Jeffery Archer in their heydays, but their books are far too global to give you a feel for the real British life. So when I came across writers like Ann Cleeves, Anna Dean, Sue Townsend (all women, which I didn’t realise till I actually jotted their names down), I was pleasantly surprised. It is a very different depiction than what Indians reading Western fiction are used to. We are so used to the American way of things that to digest and then slowly enjoy the British way of things is a bit difficult. But when you’ve lived here for some time (at least through one glorious seasonal cycle), you understand the bleakness, the greyness, the propriety, the addiction to a cup of tea, the social structures, the conflict of the cultures – both within generations and within populations. And when you understand some of this, then you start enjoying their murder mysteries, novels penning their mundane daily affairs. I am not sure if I would yet extend this courtesy to British telly which I am staying steadfastly away from, but maybe I ought to give Downton Abbey and Dr. Who a chance at least J

Amongst all these, was a book called A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian. This is written by a migrant Ukrainian who is settled in UK and I don’t believe I have read anything so remotely funny in the near past.

I am sure there are many American writers who do good work and continue to churn good intelligent material for masses (and I do not include James Patterson as one of these writers), but for now, I am basking in glorious British literature (not sure if modern day novels are to be referred to as literature). In this country where telly is oh so rubbish, it’s these writers who keep my sanity intact.

 

 

 

Annual Wrapup

The last hour of 2014. As usual everything is left for the last moment.

I look back at the year and see more moments of desperation in this year than any other that I remember. Given that I have an extremely short memory span of any chronological event in my life, this is not a telling sign of any actual comparative desperation of 2014 over say 2002 or 2007 or 2011. It’s just recent events (and by recent I mean the past week) triggering this reaction.

So overall how was 2014? Well I’m alive, I still have a job, still have parents who love me unconditionally, am still married, still have a fairly undamaged kid, have money in my bank, had soup for dinner and am having Choco chip cookies for dessert as I write this. So, overall nothing to complain about. Well, I have been cooped up at home for the past 7 days with my 3 year old with a visit to Hyde Park, the day after Boxing Day being the highlight of the “vacation”. Didn’t get to see the magical mile at Kew or roam around in Central London looking at the Christmas lighting or check out the Boxing Day sales or see fireworks at New Year’s…. But if you compare that to the unfortunate people that are shown on the charities on British telly – the kids in Africa without clean water, the mistreated girls in Asia, the homeless young people in UK, the cold and freezing children in Syria… then my little woes do seem a tad selfish and frivolous. But by far this has been one of the most unsatisfactory years of my life – personally and professional with each having a huge negative impact on the other.

Things were ok till around mid of the year. New role, excitement of kid arriving, of husband arriving, of dreams of a quiet British family life, of having my parents’ hitherto unused passports being stamped at London and Amsterdam…. It was finally coming together. And then in classic life style, it all stopped coming together.. in fact it all fell apart so fast that the memories of the good half of the year seem extremely far away. Husband left as he didn’t get a job, parents followed upon visa expiry, kid actually wanted to live with me and refused to go with grandparents and so I was left with my kid alone for the first time in life. Feelings of abandonment, of being taken for granted, of having my wings clipped, of being angry at not being able to take care of the kid in the manner that I thought would be ideal and appropriate, of being stuck with a client from whom escape seemed indeterminable, of missing targets at work, of being unable to travel as part of the job, of having seniors quit………all sorts of negative feelings overshadowed every minute of the day. Now, truth be told, the true headwinds struck only mid Sept onwards when parents left. But the last 16 weeks of my life (including 3 that I spent in India) have been the most emotionally draining ones ever – maybe postpartum weeks aside.

The “kid” – she has become the only thing governing most things in life. I am still not sure if that is good or bad or whether it is supposed to be that way. Sometimes, no.. most of the times, I feel sorry for the little one.. She is stuck with me for a mother – no mollycoddling, no patience, and no cooking skills. I am trying the best I can, but at times I know I can do better, if I tried a bit harder. With the amount of admonishments that I shower on her, poor thing, the only reason for her still wanting to live with me (and I keep rechecking every few days, if that is still the case) is Stockholm syndrome. I really can’t think of any other reason! I just hope that I don’t end up doing irreparable damage to her personality, mind and soul in my attempts to balance my life as an individual with my life as a member of a family.

However, it’s not always doom and gloom – there are moments of sunshine and pure joy. Moments which make me realise that there is a bigger picture here and everything is for a reason and all that philosophical crap… but such moments are fleeting and rare. I have taken to enjoying what I get – the weekly trips to Sainsbury’s for groceries, the weekly trips to McD for chips, the time spent (infrequently, but nonetheless) playing with blocks or colours, the weekly trips to Kingston Library, the days when there is no shouting and raving and ranting and tantrums and crying, the days when I get 5-6 hours of sleep. I guess the kid makes me realize on a daily basis what is important and valuable in life. There is immense clarity in some of the decisions that I take – refusing client meetings after 4.30 – the reason being that kid doesn’t like babysitters – for whatever reason… and I need to leave at 4.30 to pick her up from playschool before 6, pushing back on “extra” work as I need every single moment either for the kid of for myself and I zealously guard that time. 

These past few weeks have also shown me a few good friends. Mandu has always been there – in the first week of my “being mom” experiment when I thought I had lost it – I couldn’t speak to anyone but her.. two hours of Mandu therapy and I started feeling human again. My old old friend from Kerala whom I was re-acquainted with when I came to London… when he and his partner offered to pick us up from the airport upon our return to London, opened their hearts and doors to us on Christmas day lest we spend the day alone, call on us every week to ask after us… it made me say that silent prayer that someone is indeed watching over me. A couple of colleagues also surprised me. One of them invited us for a Netherlands trip over the holidays – this inspite of knowing how limiting a trip can be with a 3 year old in tow. Another one made joint plans to go to Scotland. I backed out from both plans at the last moment – for good reason and am glad that I did, but it again made me realize that I am not totally alone. There are people who care. And I guess that is much more than most people have in life.

So here is thanking the good people in my life – personal and professional for being there for me and thanking my kid for not giving up on me (though she does occasionally say that she doesn’t like my behaviour and is very disappointed in me – silly parrot)….. here is wishing that the year to come (which is another 10 minutes away and so well withing deadline :-)) brings me peace, stability, good night’s sleep, health and good thoughts.. I hope you also have these in your life…

Welcome 2015!

 

Changing value proposition for control assurance solutions

I work for an organization whose main goal is to generate a positive impact on customers’ business through intelligent business processes. Hence all our sales efforts focus only on one aspect – what impact can we generate for our customer? This in simple language means – how much money can I save for my customer or how much positive influence can I have on their topline or bottom line? We have seen the business paradigm change from being a labour arbitrage based cost out game to one where high end consulting services lead to innovative ideas that drive process efficiency and effectiveness.

While all this is well and good, where risk and control specialists like me face a challenge is quite simple. Risk and controls specialists have traditionally dealt only in two products:

·         Fear – fear of non-compliance and related fines, penalties, loss of reputation and even the ocassional jail time

·         Assurance – assurance that our services will prevent the above disasters from materializing

My experience suggests that we need to start looking at our sales process differently. Assurance is no longer an adequate enough value proposition. While assurance still is quite critical, the average corporate customer has over the years realized that it is possible to get “Assurance+” services. I call them assurance+ because as a principle any service offered by a risk advisory practice is to help a customer identify and mitigate risks. We are still in the business of assurance. But customers now demand that assurance lead to greater process efficiency, assurance comes at a lower cost and assurance comes with greater transparency and visibility. So assurance needs to be accompanied by an efficiency and or a cost metric to make it a compelling value proposition. Anyone who has been in the business long enough knows that none of these “pluses” are radically new. Infact they have always been a natural outcome of most assurance advisory projects. However where we see a change is that the customer has become acutely aware of these byproducts and sees the immense value in them. Hence they are no longer a significantly underplayed offshoot – they are the front and centre objective of customer expectations.

The only area where fear still overrides all business sense is when there is a new regulation (fear of the unknown) or when there is an enforcement action (fear of the known). Any service which helps a company comply with a  regulation which has the power to shut down or at least significantly cripple businesses from an existence and / or revenue perspective do not require any additional value than the fact that it can keep you in business.

This change, like all others, can be viewed from a positive as well as a negative perspective. If we think positively, what this has done is allowed assurance professionals to claim credit and charge additionally for all the hard $ valuea that their advisory services generate. So companies are now experimenting with outcome based pricing, value based pricing even for risk advisory services. This is quite a change from the project based or resource based pricing that risk consulting projects are traditionally used to. The risks in such a business model are great, but the rewards are greater with risk consultants rising from being mere assurance providers to being trusted business advisors.  The flip side of the equation is that quantification of our value proposition is quite a challenge. Over the years, we may have helped many of our customers avoid potential losses, identify potential leakages etc. But one of our handicaps is the basic premise that audit and assurance is never 100%, it is always sample based. Hence the only way for us to put a $ amount on value we have helped generate is by extrapolation, which may not be the best or most prudent option. There is also the argument that the more we chase “number targets”, the more we dilute our main value i.e. assurance.

All said and done, the world of risk advisory services is undergoing radical changes and once needs to be in tune with changing customer expectations or risk getting left behind as the ostrich with its head in the sand. Any risk advisor in that position wouldn’t be too good a advisor now, would it?

Friends

I’m sure I have written about this earlier… but considering the depth of my literary exploits over the last decade or so, I can’t find one of this topic….

You know you have a good life when two things happen – one you are alive and two you are loved. Now the "being loved” bit may come across as some dopey theory that you would not expect – at least not from me. But in retrospect if you think of your life, no matter what your circumstances were, things were always ok when someone who loved you was there; just being themselves. And if you do reflect on your life and you mind fills with myriad images of when you experienced such love and kindness, then consider yourself lucky. You have a life worth living. So when I indulge on one of my guilt trips, which I have been doing quite often now a days, it is good to sit back and count my blessings.

I am a very loved person…. Now some may say that is a narcissistic thing to say. But I truly am. Just saying that makes me smile. Apart from the obvious people who should love me (but whose love I have never taken for granted) there are my friends. If you have known me long enough, you know that I don’t have many friends - could count all of them on the fingers of one hand and maybe even have a finger left over.

I, at some point used to be an introvert. Over the years profession and circumstances have turned me into an extrovert – at least visibly. I come across as a friendly person, easy to talk to, decent sense of humour – mostly self-depreciating, fun to hang around. But those who have stood by me through the years know that not much has changed over time. Most of my friendships are old - the oldest one is around 16 years old and the youngest one is around 4 years old. It’s those few who I depend on to pull me out of the depths of depression and self pity when it strikes. Friends with whom the barrier of time seem to lose significance. Connections which have been dormant for 7 years, 7 months, 7 weeks or 7 days…all get picked up where I last left it. I can literally start a conversation with these friends after months of total radio and email silence. No awkwardness, no searching for a topic, no dearth of topic, no tapering of conversations - even the silence is comfortable. Then there are the names.. you know they reserve that name only for you... chotta shakeel, mandu, babli, kutty; even the names are enough to conjure up happy images. Sometime the conversations are pure crap… shooting the breeze and still the cathartic effect  that it has on me is immense. The only reason for that being that the friend knows that I need to shoot breeze and if I had something to discuss I would – at my own time, at my own pace and at my own terms. They are just there for me. Sometimes it feels selfish. Do I do right by them as they do by me? I don’t know. Maybe I do and that’s why they still stick with me; or maybe I don’t and they stick with me inspite of that. That’s what friendship is all about, right.

I have been separated from each of my friends at differnet points of life. Life just happened – circumstances changed, events occurred, time passed and people moved. At each instance, the pain of not being able to see them each day, meet them, talk to them face to face, share food with them and most importantly not being able to hug them – it’s just as unbearable as the pain of not seeing my kid for 4 months straight. But then as you grow older and wiser and you revisit some of your friends and their lives – while there a little part of you which wants time to turn back, sometimes with more intensity that you could imagine, there is another part of you which wants to get back to your life as is. You think practically and then you see how your lives have gone different ways and you are just lucky to stay in each others life with a belief that if you really needed one another, you would be there. No matter what.

The belief keeps me going – never have I felt such gratitude towards my friends, than at this hour of the night sitting alone in my apartment. The memories of the times we spent together are enough to last a lifetime and in my deepest and darkest hours, I draw life from them… you do mean a lot to me…..

Choices

This is an incident which evoked extreme reactions in me.

Someone from office wanted to quit. So what you say, people quit every day, why get so worked up? The reason is the reason for getting worked up - The reason for quitting.

This girl was quitting to stay at home and cook and clean. And yes, she wanted an industry job – which is euphemism for a 9-5 job. Who in today’s world has a 9-5 job??? She felt guilty of her husband doing house work and her inlaws were not too happy with the hours she kept. Even her parents sided with her inlaws. So instead of trying to work things out and keeping a job in today’s economy she decides to quit. What a screwed up mentality!! Who in the 21^st century or better still which educated woman in the 21^st century feels guilty about sharing housework – sharing life means sharing everything in life – house work included and childbirth excluded due to obvious reasons. And what kind of parents spends money and educates their daughter and forget to instil a sense of independence and pride in her? When asked why she couldn’t look for options to rejig her current work profile by either working from home or by leaving at a fixed time and then finishing off left over work at night, she came up with the lamest excuses I have ever heard. She can’t work from home – she doesn’t have internet at home. Even if she got internet access (which is not impossible considering she lives in Bangalore and not the bottom of the ocean), she apparently doesn’t have a comfortable place to sit and work – maybe where she comes from she hasn’t heard of tables and chairs. She needs to cook daily – the couple kind of whizzed past the era of refrigeration and she obviously has to wash clothes – they haven’t heard of washing machines either I guess. One way of looking at this situation is to say that they are newly married and really can’t afford a lot of luxuries. Another way of looking at it is – haven’t you heard of EMI’s and financial planning? And if you can’t afford these essentials (fridge and washing machine are no longer luxuries), then what the hell are you doing quitting a job that you already have? Have you gone bonkers??!!??  I actually thought that the best way out of this situation is for her to quit, sit at home for a couple of months, get frustrated with life, not get a better job, get pregnant and see her life ebbing away in front of her. Are we going backwards as a generation?? Most professionals in today’s world quit for better prospects or for a better life.

While I wrote that statement down, I had to pause. Pause and reflect on what I had written.

Then I read all that I had written and realized how judgemental I sounded. Here I was forcing my views and opinions on someone. Forcing to an extent that I was wishing this girl ill. I was actually characterizing an individuals right to peace and quiet and her prioritization of family over career as a backward idea. Where did that come from? Came from my upbringing, I guess. I have descended from a line of alpha females – we do what we want to do the way we want to do it and the rest of the world can live with that. Is that a bad attitude? I’m sure I have brushed people the wrong way and bruised a few egos and hurt a few feelings along the way. But does it mean that I love my family any less than this girl did? Nope. I love my kid and miss her as much as the next mom. And while I am not cochicoo and all dolled up doesn't mean that I don't like coming back to my husband or taking care of him (as long as the feeling and action is mutual). But here I am thousands of miles away. Is this how I show love? I view it as making a short term sacrifice to get long term benefits. Does the rest of the world see it that way? How many people mutter behind my back – that female, all she cares about is herself and money and career. Poor husband of hers – what a good guy for putting up with her and how damaged would her kid be, after all that she has put her through. Now do I think these thoughts? The fact that I am writing about these obviously means that I do, but do I really feel guilty? Sometimes pangs arise, but in such cases logic prevails – the head rules and placates the heart.

So if this works for me, why wouldn’t quitting from a high stress job, getting a 9-5 job (if there is something like that still out there), cooking and cleaning for her family (like her mom did all those years back), getting pregnant in the first year of marriage and taking care of her family work for her?

 

London Chronicles - The last blog of 2013

The title needs to be rewritten… it is not a London chronicle.. it is a life chronicle – an account of one of the most happening years of my life. There have been multiple mile stones in my life – hard not to have them when you are on the slow path from early thirties to mid thirties. I remember a few big ones – they are all the good ones; the bad ones, I learn from, change direction or self and move on. 2002 when I cleared CA, 2004 when I got my first corporate job and made a couple of friends for life, 2006 when I made my first trip outside India and made a few more friends for life, 2007 when I got married, 2011 when Nandu came along and now 2013 which has drawn to a close.

This year has been a mixed bag of life events – have had a lot of good moments, have had a few not too great ones. When I decided to catalogue the year gone by, I decided to give into temptation and did what consultants now a days do out of sheer habit (I am not talking about checking FB updates); I opened an excel sheet. Agreed that an excel sheet is not the most apt form for literary expression, but old habits die hard. Then I started filling out the excel sheet and found that it truly is an accountants tool – only facts no feelings. So the next best thing – a power point presentation. I could jazz it up a bit with colours, smart art etc to make it funky and put loads of feelings and expressions into it. But then how effective would it be on my blog? Not very, I realized. So I defaulted back to the standard writers tool – word. So here goes – Renu’s life in 2013.

The first day of the 2013 will always be memorable for me. Woke up in a colleague’s friend’s apartment in Sydney. First person I saw was my colleague with whom I had shared the bed – my husband knows about this, so please readers (all four of you) don’t turn this into page 3 material.  The view outside was Sydney harbor and it was surreal.  A half an hour walk through Sydney centre on  the first day of the year – watching strangers walk back from parties, the deserted streets, thinking of my family back home. Then I geared up and jumped off a plane at 14000 feet. Awesome adventure and I was alone, no one to share it with in person, no one to hold my hand, no one to hi-five after I landed. Alone. I did a whole light and dance show the next day in office and I published it all over facebook…. At least many “friends” knew.

I was back home by the end of Jan.

February we were a family again… work load was light, I was patient and life, for a moment looked good. I started writing articles for a regulatory magazine. Enjoyed the creative freedom, but it was restrictive. There is only so much passion that one can bring to the exciting world of compliance and corporate governance

March was training month – I attended a couple of leadership trainings at close intervals. They were good, thought provoking and ones which inspired introspection.

April had Vishu – Nandu in a salwar suit looking adorable. April was also Nandu’s and Mom’s birthday. We hosted our first party as a family. Not too shabby – could have gotten a professional photographer, but we didn’t. So no pics of the function, except for some that I took.

May was when my Nano came home. It was also my birthday, but was one of my most neglected birthdays in recent times. May was also when I attended a face to face job interview for the first time in over 5 years. The interview taught me three things – one, I was still employable; two, I was happy with my current job and three, I needed to get my priorities sorted out.  It was also the time when I started considering something radical – I wanted a big change and I was going to make it happen. I wanted to move countries - continents if possible.

June was when I got official confirmation of my move abroad – all I knew was it was either London or somewhere in US – most probably London, but could be US. The suspense was a bit too much for home life – my poor hubby needed to know where I was uprooting the family to. Then finally word came in – it was London. June was also hubby dearest’s birthday and my very first attempt at cake making. Not sure if I would want to try that again – for sure hubby doesn’t want me to try that again. I also became a regular driver in June i.e. I started driving to office everyday.

July was spent in house hunting and information gathering for my relocation. July might also have been when I started taking on more work, calls which started showing at home. Short fuse, no family time et al.

August, we jumped through hoops to get our first instalment of home loan towards our new home paid. Everything about the process was painful and made us reconsider our decision a hundred times. But finally it was through. August was also when we took Nandu to Mookambika for her Vidyarambham. It was a good trip. My first trip with my family ever. Enjoyed most of it. She enjoyed it too, I think. Things at home were not so hunky dory, lack of communication was hurting badly. I desperately wanted to get out of the country and to be alone.

September was Onam – my parents were with me. It was a special time. Nandu was decked up in new clothes everyday. Formal approval for my move came through. I was going to London for three years. The visa process could start.

October was busy and tense. There was a lot going on with my parents – their life in Mumbai was ending and a new one in Kerala was starting. There was a lot of packing up and unpacking to do. 35 years of life is not easy to lift & shift. There was no one at home to take care of Nandu. I didn’t want to sit at home, nor did my husband think he could make that choice. What great parents were we, right? Anyway, my parents had to struggle with two establishments and the journey that they ought to have undertaken together – from Mumbai to Trissur – they did it separately, with a lot of mental and physical stress. Something they could have done without and could even have been avoided if the rest of the family chipped in, but obviously you need to care about someone other than yourself to do that. It is not a quality easily found in people. So anyway, things happened as they were bound to and life moved on.

November 5^th, I said my good byes and left Bangalore. I was happy and sad at the same time. Happy that I was getting out of the depressing environment that my home was becoming. Sad that I had saddled a whole lot of responsibility on my aging parents. They didn’t deserve it. I started chronicling my life in London, so not rehashing it.

A couple of business trips to Europe, some starting trouble at office, house setting and DIY adventures, a heart warming Christmas in Amsterdam, a case of a lost and found laptop bag with my passport and truly rotten British weather on the last day of the year and here we are – 2 hours from year end watching Law & Order SVU alone…

With all the excitement and events, don’t know whether the year should be described as good or bad. I chose to be thankful. Thankful for being alive, healthy, having a loving family wherever they are, having friends who respond with warmth irrespective of whether the gap in communication is 6 months or 6 years, having a decent job, having some sense of safety and security and having enough hope in my heart to ring the new year in with enthusiasm.

So happy new year to me…..

London Chronicles – First Christmas in London

My first Christmas in London and I decide to spend it outside. 7 years back I was in Amsterdam and had crossed the channel to spend Christmas in London. It was my first trip to London and I still have fond memories. So in tribute to that cross channel Christmas tradition, I decided to spend this Christmas in Amsterdam. Now when you mention Amsterdam to anyone, you can guess what is going through their minds… weed, gays, babes and canals. For me it was none of this. It was two families. Two families which had taken me under their wings all those years back, fed me, cared for me, put a roof over my head when I wanted. For me it was like going back to home. So it was with great excitement that I decided to spend the whole Christmas week here. I shopped for Christmas gifts, did a decent job in wrapping them up and finally packed my bags and landed in Amsterdam.

Everything felt like de ja vu. The names of the shops, the language, the layout of the airport, the bus stand, the final destination, the walk up to the house, the two steps to the entrance, the door, the matriarch who opened the door, the warmth of the hug, the love in the smile, the “at home” feeling when I entered the house. Nothing had changed.

Then the kids came – only they were no longer kids, they were adults, they had their own personalities, their own views, styles. Made me feel older. Then there were new faces. A lot of the people I knew had moved on – as had I. They were no longer in Netherlands. They had been replaced by a larger number of new faces. I met a whole lot of them in the first three days of being here. Many of them had been here for 4-5 years. Their position as a part of the "gang" was far stronger than mine. Who was I –  someone who was here for a few months many years back. Everything had changed.

Then came some of the things that I remember as being things and events that I clearly didn’t like – the incessant partying, the attempts to make conversation with people you don’t want to spend time with, the lack of private time – upon reflection – the last one is an oxymoron of sorts. I am not part of the families but I expect to get private time with them which in retrospect would include excluding me. I’m sure everyone who lives here and is a part of the families lives, expects the same consideration – everyone expects to be equally special, to be invited to that special family dinner, that special family occasion… not sure why that expectation when you know you are an outsider, but the families have indeed been different to me. I have to admit, I do feel quite happy when they introduce me as their eldest kid or offer me the freedom that one would to their own kin. It’s a special relationship and I value it as much as any of the few close relations that I have in life. Some things have not changed.

So I made a decision – this was my vacation. I was not here for anyone but me. I was here to spend some time with people that I genuinely loved. Love that could be sustained only if it was unconditional. I would do what I really felt comfortable doing even if that was not what everyone did or what everyone agreed with – love becomes too much of a bother if you put others ahead of you always. I was touched when I was asked that four days into my vacation, I hadn’t gone anywhere or done anything, did I want to see the sights -  the answer came quite naturally to me. Did I want to see Juhu and Nariman Point and Haji Ali when I visited Mumbai – Nope, I just wanted to be home. That’s what I said. I wanted to hover around the kitchen checking the fridge for leftovers, jabbering away to glory on all topics from man trouble to recipes for cooking steak, raiding the pantry for savouries, lounging on the couch watching TV and feeling lazy, gulping down vegetarian food made for me in a house full of carniviores, getting my leg pulled,  – basically feeling comfortable and safe – feeling at home. I think this may be my best vacation in a really long time.

It is indeed a very merry Christmas.

London Chronicles - My first trip abroad

Don’t be misled by the title – this is in no way a recollection of my trip to Amsterdam which was my maiden international trip. This is when I travelled to Basel for a half day meeting from London – my first travel in my new role from my new “homeland”. The mere frustration and anger that I felt at the end of that trip is adequate for me go on and on about how messed up and manipulative the travel system here is. So I will rant and you will read…..

The biggest bane for any company which purports to be international is it's travel desk. I have come to a conclusion that the more money a company loses on account of it's travel desk the larger they are and the dumber they are. Rates offered by most listed hotels are lesser in many cases when checked directly than when approached via your travel desk. When you ask for quotes, for some reason the travel desk choses to give the most expensive options available. After you have done your research on the internet and have provided them with cheaper fares, they will repackage it and send it back to you as original work. Then there is the whole approval system. The whole option will have to jump through myriad loops of bureaucratic rigmarole. By the time you get the approvals from your bosses who are conveniently located in 3 different timezones, the prices obviously have gone up and then starts the process again. So in effect, an average employee who travels 40%-50% of his / her time on account of work, spends almost the same amount of time arranging the logistics and then claiming expenses (that is a topic for another fun blog).

So, here I was prepared to go to Basel. The visa was in, my presentations to the client were ready – all that was left is get to Basel. The first quote that my travel desk sends me was 350 GBP for London Basel return sector.. you add another 100-150 GBP and you can go to India and back. I am shocked and get cracking on cheapflights.co.uk which tells me that there are tickets on low cost carriers available from GBP 137!! Less than half the price on a normal carrier. I send it to the travel desk with a screenshot of the option and they still come up with a fare higher than what is shown on the net – they come up with GBP 167 which given their competency level I gladly accept. Then comes the approval process which is not too tedious as I have only one approver and he trusts my judgment to a great extent. Somehow between the few hours that it took for the approval to come in, the fares have gone up to GBP 215. I, having worked in the same company for 6 years now and having dealt with at least 3 logistics service providers, had taken an approval for the GBP 350 quote and so was saved from the process of getting new approvals for the fresh fares. So my tickets are issued. No one in the travel desk bothers to inform me of the baggage charges with this excellent orange logoed airline. So I land at the airport with minimal luggage – at least minimal as per me. I have a laptop bag (which does contain only my laptop and it's charger), a small handbag, with some cosmetics, wallet etc and a small carry on suitcase with a change of clothes for my overnight stay. The lady at the counter informs me that I have 3 pieces of luggage and I need to combine all this into one. Now, how much ever I try my Mumbai elasticity on my luggage – it is quite impossible to fit 3 pieces of luggage into a small carry on strolley. I manage to combine my handbag and laptop bag and am forced to check in my overnighter. Then the lady informs me of the charges – GBP 30 for that luggage – I paid GBP 30 to buy that damn piece of luggage and here I am paying that same amount to get one suit and one pair of night clothes across the channel on a 2 hour flight. Didn’t have a choice, so coughed up the extortion money.

For the return journey, I was well prepared because of my educational onward experience. I somehow managed to squeeze everything I had into that small overnighter. Careful planning and my sizeable mass were quite helpful in this endeavor. The check in counter again. The lady asks for my hand luggage and I effortlessly pick up the 6-7 kg suitcase and show her. She lets me in. Redemption at last – or so I thought. Waiting in line to board, another loyal employee of this wonderful airline comes and tells me to fit my suitcase into the onboard luggage “sizer” available near the boarding gate. I always thought those things were for show or to be used to dump empty water bottles etc. Anyway, my suitcase fits into that space just as well as I fit into a medium sized t-shirt – there but not quite there – with the not quite there being the larger bit. So the lady then makes me pay 55 Euros. Not sure how 30 GBP translates to 55 Euros or maybe there is another unwritten rule of how the luggage charges goes up between the checkin counter and boarding gate by nearly 15 GBP. Having no choice, I pay that as well. By this time I am at the end of my politeness – I am as rude to that wonderful woman as I am to a Bangalore auto driver who charges me heaven and earth for a 2 km distance.

Now you might say that alls well that ends well – I can claim these as business expenses but that is not the point. The point is the extent to which airlines will go to make money. Next, I’m sure they will have something about sitting in a flight – standing passengers will get standard fare, sitting with one bum cheek will cost GBP 30 and sitting on your ass fully will cost you GBP 50…. I am sure that the lady who runs this wonderful institution may be scanning social media for tips of how to increase her revenue and if she considers this lucrative idea of mine, I would appreciate it if she just paid back my GBP 100 which her company made me pay.

London Chronicles – Moving in

I have had my fair share of travels in the last 7 years. Living out of a suitcase  is not new to me. Even shifting and setting up a new house is actually not that alien. From my first "out of home" stint in Coimbatore, to life in Amsterdam to setting up two rental houses after marriage to setting up my own one.. I have set up my fair share of houses also. But there was a big difference between my previous moves and this one. I always had someone around, except in case of Amsterdam where I didn’t require anyone simply because I was moving into a fully furnished place – all I needed to do was unpack my suitcase.

Moving into my current home was a mighty task…. I have had a lot of eyebrows raised over the fact that I did it all alone, taken many a compliments on my “bravery”, garnered a ton of sympathy for my husband “abandoning” me in my “time of need”. I almost felt like I deserved a medal of honour or bravery… a jhansi ki rani in modern day London, though I had no clue what I had done to deserve it.

So, let me start at the beginning. Like all good Indian families, mine also thought that Britain was experiencing some kind of drought – no food, no meds, no electronics in this country to sustain life. So in order for me to survive till I foraged enough to sustain my ongoing life, I carried 112 kg of luggage with me. I didn’t physically carry it – if that is the image popping up in your mind – not from India anyway. I used a particularly effective courier service who came home to pack it all up – from clothes, to my vacuum cleaner, iron box, Phillips mixer, rice cooker to sets of plastic containers of all sizes, to crockery to enough groceries for at least 2 months – I’m not exaggerating. In hind sight it was a good idea – not because of drought in Britain but because of the fact that I get reimbursed by my company for transporting the luggage and I wouldn’t have got paid if I had purchased all that here. The deal with the courier company was that they would ship the stuff from India once I gave them a permanent address. As soon as my offer on the house was accepted, I mailed the address to the courier guys. The courier was to reach in 4-5 working days – maximum by Friday or by next Monday. Friday came and went and no one called. No progress on the online tracker either. I was a bit worried – images of my mixer being used to make minced meat and my rice cooker being used to make chicken biryani had started haunting me. So I decided to call them on Saturday and to my shock they said they had already made the delivery – on Friday – to a house where no one lived!!! Can you beat that? So I rushed there as soon as I could, or at least as soon as the London weekend public transport system would allow you to get from Ilford to Kingston. Dragging a 25KG suitcase with me while trying to find my way from the station didn't speed up the process either. And then there was the case of the furniture I had ordered online.

That’s a whole different story, but it is quite necessary that it be told for you to understand my moving in drama to its full extent.

The house I had rented was bare except for a fully kitted kitchen (sans a microwave – an oven is not the same as a microwave – I found out that later) and wardrobes in both bedrooms. So I needed to get a sofa, 2 beds, mattresses, cloth drying stand, ironing board, coffee tables etc…. I tried ordering online, but I didn’t have a debit card. The day I got my debit card, I put in a huge order with one of the cheapest online stores here – Argos – Ikea was out of question (if you've read my previous blog, you will know why?).. I don’t think they even deliver cushions which didn’t require assembly. Anyway Argos was much quicker on delivery time, the quality couldn’t be that much different as the prices were not and so Argos it was. Of my huge order, there was a small order made up of multiple items amounting to around 250 quid and a bigger order consisting of the bed and the sofa amounting to around 550 quid. For some unknown reason, the bigger order was rejected by my bank, the smaller one was authenticated but I didn’t get a confirmation from Argos and neither did the transaction appear on my bank statement. So I figured that the transaction had failed. I will try again later. So it came as a shock to me when I got an SMS on Saturday morning – the same Saturday that I was planning to shift – that my order was ready for delivery and would be delivered between 8 and 1.

You can imagine that while I was lugging my suitcase, trying to figure out from Google maps where the hell my house was, I had a lot on my mind. I finally found the house and a sight that buttressed my belief that I had made a right choice by selecting the house for its location. My front door was covered with packages – at least 8 of them of all shapes and sizes – just lying in front of my door. I didn’t know how to react. I was standing there stunned surrounded by all these packages when I hear a voice – “Are you the new tenant?” I see an old lady, white, with white hair and blue eye shadow who I realise is my downstairs neighbor. She sees me as a damsel in distress – for the first time in my life I actually felt like one. She invites me for a cup of coffee which I badly need. I am wondering what to do with my suitcase and then I figure – if no one has bothered to steal my packages, then maybe no one will steal my suitcase either. Right then my knight in shining armour arrives…. No it’s not my husband making a dramatic entry which would be what would be expected in true Bollywood fashion. It is the property inventory guy – but that day, to me – he was no lesser than Hritik Roshan playing Krrish to the rescue. An affable guy who walks me through the house, shows me chinks in the property I hadn’t seen before, shows me how the appliances work , towards the end of our tour and explanation of the process – asks me the penultimate question –“do you have anyone to help you with your luggage?” I say ‘Nope”. “So how exactly were you planning to get all this stuff up?” “Good question . Best answer – either rolling them over the stairs or dragging them”. He looks at me as if I am cuckoo and says – not asks, but says “I’m going to help you”. I could have jumped up and kissed him right there – I am not lying – I was happy and relieved – it was like having your faith restored.

Now in case you are wondering why I am talking of hauling things up the stairs, though the entrance to my house is at ground level, once you open the door, you have to go up a flight of stairs to the first floor where the actual abode is.

So there we were; the inventory guy (who shall remain an unnamed hero in my chronicles) and I, playing a tango with the huge 30 kg parcels - 4 of them. It was then that I realised, that in the midst of stuff from India was stuff from Argos. Does no one call or ask for signature on delivery in this country???? God… they just leave stuff at your doorstep and expect your neighbours to be upstanding citizens with good morals (I have still not paid for that stuff). After Brit Krrish and I get all the stuff to the landing, he asks me if he could help me with anything else? I am lucky to have encountered decency on my first day in the new house – spread a glow of positivity in me. When I profusely thanked him, he said the usual pleasantries and rushed to his next house. So there I was left with a hallway full of boxes and not even a chair to sit on.

I felt desolate – very desolate indeed. And then there was a knock on the door and my neighbor came to remind me of coffee. A half an hour at her house with coffee that reminded me of home made coffee, a small dog who was extremely well-behaved , a short historical peek into my neighbours life and some not so great hearsay about my landlords, I was back home and looking at what I should do. I found the knife – the courier company wouldn’t carry it in their luggage, so I had carried it in my checked in luggage. I found it and started slashing around. It was more frustration and loneliness that got to me than the mere physical exhaustion that the events of the day had brought down on me. A few boxes ripped and bubble wrap and thermocol bits all around the house, I needed time out. So I decided to get myself a chair made and realized that I didn’t have any tools. I needed to go to Kingston to get a toolkit.

Down the road from my house and across the street was the Thames walkway to Kingston. It was not until I went down the steps to the walkway that I realized how close to my dream I was. It was one of those rare days that the sun is shining bright, you can see the sun rays shimmer over the water, the Kingston bridge across the river, trees losing their leaves in the foreground, families holding hands, pushing prams, old couples walking as if they fell in love yesterday, people jogging, rowing and I was here to stay… this could be my life. This is what I wanted.. I was finally getting it. It was enough for someone like me – tough gal, tomboy exterior, to almost feel guilty – guilty that I was so happy at the moment that I was not missing my family enough. What kind of person am I??

My first DIY project – wasn’t easy – it was the first time that I was actually trying to make something. It was grueling but I did it – gingerly sat on the chair and it didn’t break… I know it was not rocket science, but for the first time I understood why some people derive so much joy from working with their hands – carpentry, pottery, gardening; it is extremely fulfilling to see something take a concrete shape in front of you – even if all you did was screw on some nuts and bolts.

With the chair done, I was calling it a day – I looked back and saw a house too messed up for me to live in and anyway half my luggage was still at my hotel at Ilford. So I was on a train back to Ilford and reminiscing my day… Gosh! Was I tired!!

The next day – a bright new day – I decided that I was going to officially move in. I checked out of the hotel and started my last and final journey from Ilford to Kingston. I started at 9.30 AM and reached home at 1. Three and a half hours for a journey which should ideally take an hour and 15 minutes. Didn’t know at that time that trains on that route do not work on Sundays as they are closed for repairs. So after an extremely tiring journey home – all I wanted to do was to sit on my recently assembled throne and rock to sleep – but there was a long day ahead of me – things to do. By the end of the day, I had set up my kitchen, thrown most of my clothes in a closet, made a temporary bed – 2 blankets and a sleeping bag and an led an exploration into the bowels of my attic to store the packaging material. Unlike back home where I once actually put a washbasin in trash and it was actually taken away – here there was rules about how you dispose off packing material. The rules were too much for me to digest at that point and so I thought I could just dump it in the attic till my next move when it could be used again. All the unpacking made me remember the times that mom and I had spent in packing – the thought that she put into each item, stuff that I forgot, didn’t think of or deemed unnecessary. The times dad & I spent in putting together the suitcase and weighing it a hundred times to ensure it was within limits. It was strange to have such widely conflicting emotions on consecutive days – one that made me happy where I was and one that made me yearn to go back – at least to meet my parents, if nothing else.

I folded for the night – my first night in a sleeping bag, in a new house. I slept with the lights on, still do. The house creaks when you walk on it, the boiler makes weird noises and it is so quite outside that every little sound manifests itself a hundred times more loudly. I didn’t get much sleep that night, but I was finally home.

And so today, I spend my 3^rd weekend in the house. I have a TV, cable, internet, some trinkets from home which made my home look homely, a pastel blue wall clock, a microwave, clothes neatly folded away or hung, all the papers - from the rental agreement to the bank documents to the contract openings for water, electricity and cable organized in box files – a sofa and bed on their way. I am as settled as I could hope to be……. Till the family arrives and then starts the process of resettlement.. one that I am looking forward to.

I will no longer be alone – there is only so much silence and solitude that one can relish and while I am relishing the time alone – I may not for too long. Or worse still I may enjoy it so much that arrival of my family can seem like an unwelcome intrusion. That very thought scares me…..

London Chronicles – Out & About

You know all those dreams you have of being in the best cities of the world.. London, Paris, New York…. Well I am living my dream.. working in London, minutes away from the Buckingham palace. It doesn’t get any better from this – location wise. The flip side is I don’t live at or anywhere near the Palace. So I need to travel to work – almost an hour one way daily. So what’s the big deal – most people do you say. But it depends on whom you ask. For example – In Bangalore, the hour, hour and a half to or from work was in the comfort of my car listening to RJ Shraddha and RJ Daraius. I knew the trouble points and was mentally prepared – Marthahalli, KR Puram…. When you are in Mumbai, everything is a mad rush really. The only good thing about being in a local train at peak hours is that you are so squeezed from all sides that you really don’t feel anything – no pain from standing hours on a local from Churchgate to Virar or VT to Karjat – in fact you are so cocooned that you can actually sleep standing. For our friends from Delhi – it’s the hours spend at the Delhi – Gurgaon toll plaza that is the bane. For us Londonnites (look at me – 3 weeks in the country and calling myself a Londonnite…) it’s the myriad forms of public transport that is available. I have discovered that from my home to my office is around an hour door to door. No matter which route I take the time taken remains the same – an oh boy… how many options to choose from. So let me describe the few that I have discovered in the past 5 days. I walk to Surbiton station – take a national rail train (southwest line) to Waterloo. Now a fast train would take me directly to Waterloo from where I take a tube via Bakerloo line to Embankment which is one stop from Waterloo and from there a District or Circle line tube to St. James’s park which is 2-3 stops from Embankment. A slow train to Waterloo will stop at around 6 stops on the way. So one of my options is to get down at Wimbledon and take a District line from there to St. James’s park. Or to get down at Vauxhall and take a Victoria line to Victoria Station and walk down to the office. These are three options that I discovered in the past few days. I’m sure that as days go by, more routes will be added to this list. So what makes you decide your preferred route. First, there is the time factor – which is the quickest route – there is no shortest route, so quickest will have to do. If you are under a misconception that a fast train to Waterloo will actually get you there faster, you are mistaken. Like in Mumbai, a fast train will most probably come in after 3 slow trains. And even if one route actually got you from point A to B faster, the number of stairs and escalators that you had to go up and down to cross over from National rail to Bakerloo line to District line to Victoria line… you really don’t require any other exercise. Just climbing up and down the stairs and running from one platform to another will get you calories burning. The other factor is obviously the comfort factor – the Wimbledon option is really the slowest of the above, but it is the most comfortable. I get a place to sit on the train from Surbiton because it is a slow train. I always get a place to sit on the tube from Wimbledon and most of the trip is over ground… so you get to take in the sights. So I prefer this over the others.

Being on a train or a tube is almost like being on a plane – you have a guard making an announcement in a very cultured, clipped tone. Sometimes you have odd ball characters like I had today on my District line tube” Hello ladies and gentlemen and welcome to the district line train to Tower Hill taking a very scenic route via Putney, West Kensington, Earls court, Victoria, Embankment and Tower hill. This train will attempt to stop at all stations on the way to and especially at Tower Hill. So take you seats if you have found one and enjoy the rest of the ride.” They wish you a pleasant day or a safe onward journey at the end of your trip. They all mention that we look at the safety information displayed in each compartment and that we keep our belongings to ourselves. All of them let us know why a train is running late or has stopped at an unscheduled stop. They apologize a hundred times though their voices emote no feeling. And very much like our flights, trains are often late. They have a good reason like “person falling on tracks”, “signal fault”, “faulty train before”.. so a lot of your time is spent on platforms… waiting for the next train, the next tube, the red light to change, the dead man to be removed.

The other thing that needs to be mentioned when you talk public transport is your fellow passenger. It was a pleasant surprise when I got into a tube and nearly everyone was reading something or the other. Most are reading the free newspapers handed out outside most stations, but others are reading novels, magazines, something on their ipads or kindles. It is so heartening to see people read. I have almost never in my 5 years in Bangalore see people read in public transport. Can’t blame them fully. Difficult to read properly when you are on a roller coaster ride due to the condition of the roads or so crammed that you can hardly take a full breath let alone spread a news paper to its full length. Most of them have their headphones on. Some are playing stupid phone games. But there is one thing in common. No one ever talks. You may have a couple of people or a bunch of people who are together having a conversation in hushed tones, people speaking in polite, courteous tones into their cell phones – but never ever striking a conversation with a stranger – that is an unwritten rule on the London underground – thou shalt not speak to thy neighbor. Maybe the only commandment strictly followed in London. I find it quite amusing to see people. Actually see them, not to hide behind books or ear phones, but to actually observe humanity in its raw form. All shapes, sizes and colours of people. Formally dressed, stylishly dressed, shabbily dressed, drinking coffee, balancing books, kissing and fondling, airing their dirty laundry, out of place strangers, people who belong so much that they almost blend in with the décor of the train – what they do, how they sit, how they react.. it is a fascinating study of the human species and its free and uninterrupted – till the person leaves the train.

Once you get off a train the next interesting thing is getting on all those stairs and escalators. People in London have immense patience. You can see two structured lines, barely moving in the direction of the stairs. The odd one person or so who is in a hurry slightly jostling others, but more or less everyone – just waiting for their turn to get on to the steps – in an orderly fashion. Imagine putting them at Dadar station at peak hours. They would end up paying for therapy sessions for the rest of their lives to recover from the emotional trauma. I haven’t counted, but am sure that I climb up and down at least 100 steps everyday. If I still don’t lose weight – at least I tried.

After you get off the stairs and escalators beeping your oyster card at each gate, you land into a big cross over hall in most big stations – Victoria, waterloo, Liverpool street. Such halls are a sea of black and grey – all rushing across all corners to board the next mode of transport to their next point. In the midst you may see a rush of colour, a whimsical blue, or a bold red, or the more common pastel or brown – but mostly it is just a sea of black and grey. Sometimes with poppies or broaches on the lapels, sometimes with dainty scarves, sometimes with a shirt so colourful you know that the guy is gay, sometimes with a red dotted bow tie, sometimes with coat tails, but mostly black or grey pants, skirts or dresses with black overcoats.

After all that darkness - the darkness of the tubes, the tunnels, the clothes, the silence, you come out of the station into a rush of blinding light. You just want to rush into it, embrace it with all you have…..its London, you don’t have too much of day light anyway.

London Chronicles - The very beginning

I got my laptop today and I thought the first use of this implement is, after checking mails and letting my office know that I’m open for business, to pen down my new series of blogs on London life. I always had this dream that my blogs which are hardly read by anyone today, would one day be considered the pinnacle of literature and be published. Maybe pinnacle of literature is a bit too much (but given that Chetan Bhagat’s writings are considered awesome, I don’t see why mine might not be viewed as such) but published – oh yes…. Definitely they would be published and I would make tons of money in royalty and book rights and movie rights………. You get the drift, right. So if you wanted some sane reading, this is where you stop and find yourself maybe a Chetan Bhagat novel. But if you are one with a brave heart, then march on my friend…

I made the decision to look for employment abroad sometime in the mid of 2013. Considering that I actually didn’t get any calls from employment agencies or companies outside (not that I didn’t try), I decided to ask my employer if they would give me a chance. It did come as a surprise when they didn’t laugh their heads off at my request. After a couple of weeks of swinging between 2 continents, they decided that I shall keep the Queen company. Then started a whole bureaucratic process of getting approvals of everyone in the company – it almost seemed as if they would also need to speak to the Queen as to whether she would actually fancy my presence in her country. So after jumping through as many hoops as a circus lion would have to on a good day, my bosses (bless their souls for not giving up on this noble mission) let me know that I am good to go. This whole process took almost 3 months. The visa process was surprisingly quick - just four weeks end to end and before you knew it, I had my passport with a work visa stamped on it. Now there was no excuse to linger on. So a couple of days after I got my passport I was packed and ready to board a plane to relocate to London. I have always felt some bit of emotion when I left the country longish periods, especially after my daughter came along. This time though was different. It would be by far the longest period I would have stayed away from my daughter, it was a difficult state in which I left my parents – they had their own struggles and I added to their burden by having them take care of my kid, but for some reason, I didn’t cry this time around. Maybe a couple of tears when I kissed my daughter good bye in her sleep, but that was it. No thinking of it in the airport or on flight. I was genuinely looking forward to my new life… It was a new chapter and I was determined to enjoy it to the fullest.

So then, after I landed, I needed to get to Ilford, for that is where my company provided serviced apartments were. It cost me 110 quid to get here… so within a couple of hours of landing in UK, I had spent ~13% of the total money that I had on me. It was a drive that lasted nearly 2 hours in which time I had great company in form of Mr. Ahmed Munir, a very knowledgeable gentleman who gave me great tips on life in UK. He also told me that the drive wouldn’t have cost me more than £60 if I would have booked directly – great start to life in the UK. The apartment building for some reason didn’t have parking in front of it and so we were forced to park some distance away and there I was lugging away my suitcases and crossing 3 signals in whistling wind to get to the building. The apartment was well – for the lack of a better vocabulary spectacular – the views from the 22^nd floor were breathtaking.. it was like one of those full length posters with the bright lights of  New York or London skylines that people have on their walls except that in my case it was real. Sitting on the sofa looking out the floor to ceiling windows, I wished I drank alcohol; it seemed like the perfect moment to open the bubbly.

First visit to Sainsbury to get the essentials and I was disappointed – wonderful looking bananas, the only fruit that I actually enjoy, bought at £1.69, were rotten before I got them home. First day to office and I was disappointed, I was told I wouldn’t get a laptop for a week. So I went house hunting the next day – saw 7 houses in a day… didn’t remember one from another by the end but it was a good experience. I really didn’t see the point of seeing more houses, getting confused with more choices, so I put an offer on 3 houses. Now that offers were out, I needed to figure out a way to get some money to pay for set-up. The company recommended HSBC, they said they didn’t have an appointment till around 10 days later – an appointment to open a new bank account – and they wonder why their economy is not growing fast enough. I walk over to Natwest and they spend half an hour taking down my details only to tell me at the end of it that I would have to wait for a week before I got my account number. It was as if I had communicated the urgency of my situation to them in Malayalam and it got lost in translation. So I crossed the road and walked over to Lloyds. Now there is something to be said if a pure Brit bank actually steps on the gas and gets you an account in half an hour flat. So I walked back to office, a proud account holder of Lloyds Bank and was told by my HR team that I would actually get paid my salary in November. That was unexpected – good news. My offer was accepted after a bit of bargaining and to be honest, I was not sure if I was happy or not about it. The truth of the matter was I didn’t remember anything of the property, except it was supposed to have a small private garden out back. Now that I had a house, I decided to buy some basic furniture. So a visit to Ikea was warranted. It scared the living daylights out of me. Why would anyone want to go there and buy anything is beyond me – it looked like so much hard work. I missed India for the first time. So online shopping it was – before I discovered that my Indian credit card wouldn’t work on the website for some reason. So here I was stuck in London, one of the most expensive cities in the world, with my ever depleting stash of hard cash which I converted when I entered the country and no access to my own hard earned money. No credit card, no debit card and delays in getting money from India.. for the first time in more  than a decade I was at a stage that I may have to borrow money from someone… the mere thought of that was sickening. Borrowing from parents was ok, but total strangers that you met a couple of days back…. I just wished that it wouldn’t come to that. So I came up with a solution – a sleeping bag – that is what I would move into the new house with – it was fully carpeted and had heating… a sleeping bag should do just fine for starters. I had over 100kg of luggage coming from home in India, that would take care of the daily necessities. The house already had a fully fitted kitchen and wardrobes. So basically I was looking at a sofa set, a couple of beds, mattresses, dining chairs and a TV as additions. Given the pathetic quality of entertainment on display on TV in UK, getting the box  was actually not too high on my list – un understandable books by Mark Haddon seemed quite exciting in comparison. In due course I will get a debit card and I will start building up my home collection – converting a “rental property” to a home – slowly and steadily – the Brit way.

I have waxed eloquently about events and completely left out the other big thing in life - people. Considering that most of my interaction has been with folks from work, most of whom are Indian, it is a good feeling that you can speak Hindi in office while in UK. I also have spent my days thus far in Ilford which is heavily populated by Asians.. so all in all, I have seem more Asians in UK (in Ilford, in the serviced apartment, in trains, tubes, streets -  surprisingly low number of Chinese looking people) than I have seen whites or more specifically White Brits. Most whites I have seen are Polish, Russians, Spanish – all variety… it is quite a good feeling that the city is so inclusive. But you do sense an underlying frustration in London. This feeling is more pronounced in packed trains and tubes than anywhere I have been till now. It is quite simple really. You can’t unveil any of your discomfort without actually blaming it on someone else. In closed quarters like the tube most of these “someone else” are always from a different race, country, religion or of a different colour and being a inclusive city or being expected to be a more inclusive city like the new mayor of London  expressed a couple of days back, if everytime a Brit felt uneasy and went around complaining, you would have fist fights almost all the time. We have it in India too, Maharashtrians blame the Madrasis for taking all their jobs who blame the Gujjus for being so loud mouthed who blame the Bengalis for being so lazy who blame the Punjabis for being so boisterous and of course everyone blames the Muslims and the bhaiiyyas…. But at the end of it – it is our country – by birth, by right, by ancestry and we – despite our differences are all Indian. Its different when an Indian shouts at another – it’s all within the “family”.. London is trying very hard to be a family, but it comes across as a foster home – a very good, kind and generous one, don’t get me wrong, but it’s just not home. 

Obviously I have been in the country for all of 8 days, so what do I know.....